ΦΑΙΔ. οὐ πολὺν δ’ οὖν χρόνον ἐπισχὼν ἧκεν καὶ ἐκέλευεν ἡμᾶς εἰσιέναι. εἰσιόντες οὖν κατελαμβάνομεν τὸν μὲν Σωκράτη ἄρτι λελυμένον, τὴν δὲ Ξανθίππην — γιγνώσκεις γάρ — ἔχουσάν τε τὸ παιδίον αὐτοῦ καὶ παρακαθημένην. ὡς οὖν εἶδεν ἡμᾶς ἡ Ξανθίππη, ἀνηυφήμησέ τε καὶ τοιαῦτ’ ἄττα εἶπεν, οἷα δὴ εἰώθασιν αἱ γυναῖκες, ὅτι «ὦ Σώκρατες, ὕστατον δή σε προσεροῦσι νῦν οἱ ἐπιτήδειοι καὶ σὺ τούτους.» καὶ ὁ Σωκράτης βλέψας εἰς τὸν Κρίτωνα, «ὦ Κρίτων,» ἔφη, «ἀπαγέτω τις αὐτὴν οἴκαδε.» καὶ ἐκείνην μὲν ἀπῆγόν τινες τῶν τοῦ Κρίτωνος βοῶσάν τε καὶ κοπτομένην· ὁ δὲ Σωκράτης ἀνακαθιζόμενος εἰς τὴν κλίνην συνέκαμψέ τε τὸ σκέλος καὶ ἐξέτριψε τῇ χειρί, καὶ τρίβων ἅμα, ὡς ἄτοπον, ἔφη, ὦ ἄνδρες, ἔοικέ τι εἶναι τοῦτο ὃ καλοῦσιν οἱ ἄνθρωποι ἡδύ· ὡς θαυμασίως πέφυκε πρὸς τὸ δοκοῦν ἐναντίον εἶναι, τὸ λυπηρόν, τὸ ἅμα μὲν αὐτὼ μὴ ᾽θέλειν παραγίγνεσθαι τῷ ἀνθρώπῳ, ἐὰν δέ τις διώκῃ τὸ ἕτερον καὶ λαμβάνῃ, σχεδόν τι ἀναγκάζεσθαι ἀεὶ λαμβάνειν καὶ τὸ ἕτερον, ὥσπερ ἐκ μιᾶς κορυφῆς ἡμμένω δύ’ ὄντε. καί μοι δοκεῖ, ἔφη, εἰ ἐνενόησεν αὐτὰ Αἴσωπος, μῦθον ἂν συνθεῖναι ὡς ὁ θεὸς βουλόμενος αὐτὰ διαλλάξαι πολεμοῦντα, ἐπειδὴ οὐκ ἐδύνατο, συνῆψεν εἰς ταὐτὸν αὐτοῖς τὰς κορυφάς, καὶ διὰ ταῦτα ᾧ ἂν τὸ ἕτερον παραγένηται ἐπακολουθεῖ ὕστερον καὶ τὸ ἕτερον. ὥσπερ οὖν καὶ αὐτῷ μοι ἔοικεν· ἐπειδὴ ὑπὸ τοῦ δεσμοῦ ἦν ἐν τῷ σκέλει τὸ ἀλγεινόν, ἥκειν δὴ φαίνεται ἐπακολουθοῦν τὸ ἡδύ. ὁ οὖν Κέβης ὑπολαβών, νὴ τὸν Δία, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἔφη, εὖ γ’ ἐποίησας ἀναμνήσας με. περὶ γάρ τοι τῶν ποιημάτων ὧν πεποίηκας ἐντείνας τοὺς τοῦ Αἰσώπου λόγους καὶ τὸ εἰς τὸν Ἀπόλλω προοίμιον καὶ ἄλλοι τινές με ἤδη ἤροντο, ἀτὰρ καὶ Εὔηνος πρῴην, ὅτι ποτὲ διανοηθείς, ἐπειδὴ δεῦρο ἦλθες, ἐποίησας αὐτά, πρότερον οὐδὲν πώποτε ποιήσας. εἰ οὖν τί σοι μέλει τοῦ ἔχειν ἐμὲ Εὐήνῳ ἀποκρίνασθαι ὅταν με αὖθις ἐρωτᾷ — εὖ οἶδα γὰρ ὅτι ἐρήσεται — εἰπὲ τί χρὴ λέγειν. λέγε τοίνυν, ἔφη, αὐτῷ, ὦ Κέβης, τἀληθῆ, ὅτι οὐκ ἐκείνῳ βουλόμενος οὐδὲ τοῖς ποιήμασιν αὐτοῦ ἀντίτεχνος εἶναι ἐποίησα ταῦτα — ᾔδη γὰρ ὡς οὐ ῥᾴδιον εἴη — ἀλλ’ ἐνυπνίων τινῶν ἀποπειρώμενος τί λέγοι, καὶ ἀφοσιούμενος εἰ ἄρα πολλάκις ταύτην τὴν μουσικήν μοι ἐπιτάττοι ποιεῖν. ἦν γὰρ δὴ ἄττα τοιάδε· πολλάκις μοι φοιτῶν τὸ αὐτὸ ἐνύπνιον ἐν τῷ παρελθόντι βίῳ, ἄλλοτ’ ἐν ἄλλῃ ὄψει φαινόμενον, τὰ αὐτὰ δὲ λέγον, «ὦ Σώκρατες,» ἔφη, «μουσικὴν ποίει καὶ ἐργάζου.»
Phaedo. So after a little delay he came and told us to go in. We went in then and found Socrates just released from his fetters and Xanthippe—you know her—with his little son in her arms, sitting beside him. Now when Xanthippe saw us, she cried out and said the kind of thing that women always do say: “Oh Socrates, this is the last time now that your friends will speak to you or you to them.” And Socrates glanced at Crito and said, “Crito, let somebody take her home.” And some of Crito’s people took her away wailing and beating her breast. But Socrates sat up on his couch and bent his leg and rubbed it with his hand, and while he was rubbing it, he said, “What a strange thing, my friends, that seems to be which men call pleasure! How wonderfully it is related to that which seems to be its opposite, pain, in that they will not both come to a man at the same time, and yet if he pursues the one and captures it he is generally obliged to take the other also, as if the two were joined together in one head. And I think,” he said, “if Aesop had thought of them, he would have made a fable telling how they were at war and god wished to reconcile them, and when he could not do that, he fastened their heads together, and for that reason, when one of them comes to anyone, the other follows after. Just so it seems that in my case, after pain was in my leg on account of the fetter, pleasure appears to have come following after.” Here Cebes interrupted and said, “By Zeus, Socrates, I am glad you reminded me. Several others have asked about the poems you have composed, the metrical versions of Aesop’s fables and the hymn to Apollo, and Evenus asked me the day before yesterday why you never wrote any poetry before, composed these verses after you came to prison. Now, if you care that I should be able to answer Evenus when he asks me again—and I know he will ask me—tell me what to say.”“Then tell him, Cebes,” said he, “the truth, that I composed these verses not because I wished to rival him or his poems, for I knew that would not be easy, but because I wished to test the meaning of certain dreams, and to make sure that I was neglecting no duty in case their repeated commands meant that I must cultivate the Muses in this way. They were something like this. The same dream came to me often in my past life, sometimes in one form and sometimes in another, but always saying the same thing: ‘Socrates,’ it said, ‘make music and work at it.’”
ΦΑΙΔ. καὶ ἐγὼ ἔν γε τῷ πρόσθεν χρόνῳ ὅπερ ἔπραττον τοῦτο ὑπελάμβανον αὐτό μοι παρακελεύεσθαί τε καὶ ἐπικελεύειν, ὥσπερ οἱ τοῖς θέουσι διακελευόμενοι, καὶ ἐμοὶ οὕτω τὸ ἐνύπνιον ὅπερ ἔπραττον τοῦτο ἐπικελεύειν, μουσικὴν ποιεῖν, ὡς φιλοσοφίας μὲν οὔσης μεγίστης μουσικῆς, ἐμοῦ δὲ τοῦτο πράττοντος. νῦν δ’ ἐπειδὴ ἥ τε δίκη ἐγένετο καὶ ἡ τοῦ θεοῦ ἑορτὴ διεκώλυέ με ἀποθνῄσκειν, ἔδοξε χρῆναι, εἰ ἄρα πολλάκις μοι προστάττοι τὸ ἐνύπνιον ταύτην τὴν δημώδη μουσικὴν ποιεῖν, μὴ ἀπειθῆσαι αὐτῷ ἀλλὰ ποιεῖν· ἀσφαλέστερον γὰρ εἶναι μὴ ἀπιέναι πρὶν ἀφοσιώσασθαι ποιήσαντα ποιήματα [καὶ] πιθόμενον τῷ ἐνυπνίῳ. οὕτω δὴ πρῶτον μὲν εἰς τὸν θεὸν ἐποίησα οὗ ἦν ἡ παροῦσα θυσία· μετὰ δὲ τὸν θεόν, ἐννοήσας ὅτι τὸν ποιητὴν δέοι, εἴπερ μέλλοι ποιητὴς εἶναι, ποιεῖν μύθους ἀλλ’ οὐ λόγους, καὶ αὐτὸς οὐκ ἦ μυθολογικός, διὰ ταῦτα δὴ οὓς προχείρους εἶχον μύθους καὶ ἠπιστάμην τοὺς Αἰσώπου, τούτων ἐποίησα οἷς πρώτοις ἐνέτυχον. ταῦτα οὖν, ὦ Κέβης, Εὐήνῳ φράζε, καὶ ἐρρῶσθαι καί, ἂν σωφρονῇ, ἐμὲ διώκειν ὡς τάχιστα. ἄπειμι δέ, ὡς ἔοικε, τήμερον· κελεύουσι γὰρ Ἀθηναῖοι. καὶ ὁ Σιμμίας, οἷον παρακελεύῃ, ἔφη, τοῦτο, ὦ Σώκρατες, Εὐήνῳ. πολλὰ γὰρ ἤδη ἐντετύχηκα τῷ ἀνδρί· σχεδὸν οὖν ἐξ ὧν ἐγὼ ᾔσθημαι οὐδ’ ὁπωστιοῦν σοι ἑκὼν εἶναι πείσεται. τί δέ; ἦ δ’ ὅς, οὐ φιλόσοφος Εὔηνος; ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ, ἔφη ὁ Σιμμίας. ἐθελήσει τοίνυν καὶ Εὔηνος καὶ πᾶς ὅτῳ ἀξίως τούτου τοῦ πράγματος μέτεστιν. οὐ μέντοι ἴσως βιάσεται αὑτόν· οὐ γάρ φασι θεμιτὸν εἶναι. καὶ ἅμα λέγων ταῦτα καθῆκε τὰ σκέλη ἐπὶ τὴν γῆν, καὶ καθεζόμενος οὕτως ἤδη τὰ λοιπὰ διελέγετο. ἤρετο οὖν αὐτὸν ὁ Κέβης· πῶς τοῦτο λέγεις, ὦ Σώκρατες, τὸ μὴ θεμιτὸν εἶναι ἑαυτὸν βιάζεσθαι, ἐθέλειν δ’ ἂν τῷ ἀποθνῄσκοντι τὸν φιλόσοφον ἕπεσθαι; τί δέ, ὦ Κέβης; οὐκ ἀκηκόατε σύ τε καὶ Σιμμίας περὶ τῶν τοιούτων Φιλολάῳ συγγεγονότες; οὐδέν γε σαφές, ὦ Σώκρατες. ἀλλὰ μὴν καὶ ἐγὼ ἐξ ἀκοῆς περὶ αὐτῶν λέγω· ἃ μὲν οὖν τυγχάνω ἀκηκοὼς φθόνος οὐδεὶς λέγειν. καὶ γὰρ ἴσως καὶ μάλιστα πρέπει μέλλοντα ἐκεῖσε ἀποδημεῖν διασκοπεῖν τε καὶ μυθολογεῖν περὶ τῆς ἀποδημίας τῆς ἐκεῖ, ποίαν τινὰ αὐτὴν οἰόμεθα εἶναι· τί γὰρ ἄν τις καὶ ποιοῖ ἄλλο ἐν τῷ μέχρι ἡλίου δυσμῶν χρόνῳ; κατὰ τί δὴ οὖν ποτε οὔ φασι θεμιτὸν εἶναι αὐτὸν ἑαυτὸν ἀποκτεινύναι, ὦ Σώκρατες; ἤδη γὰρ ἔγωγε, ὅπερ νυνδὴ σὺ ἤρου, καὶ Φιλολάου ἤκουσα, ὅτε παρ’ ἡμῖν διῃτᾶτο, ἤδη δὲ καὶ ἄλλων τινῶν, ὡς οὐ δέοι τοῦτο ποιεῖν· σαφὲς δὲ περὶ αὐτῶν οὐδενὸς πώποτε οὐδὲν ἀκήκοα.
Phaedo. “And I formerly thought it was urging and encouraging me to do what I was doing already and that just as people encourage runners by cheering, so the dream was encouraging me to do what I was doing, that is, to make music, because philosophy was the greatest kind of music and I was working at that. But now, after the trial and while the festival of the god delayed my execution, I thought, in case the repeated dream really meant to tell me to make this which is ordinarily called music, I ought to do so and not to disobey. For I thought it was safer not to go hence before making sure that I had done what I ought, by obeying the dream and composing verses. So first I composed a hymn to the god whose festival it was; and after the god, considering that a poet, if he is really to be a poet, must compose myths and not speeches, since I was not a maker of myths, I took the myths of Aesop, which I had at hand and knew, and turned into verse the first I came upon. So tell Evenus that, Cebes, and bid him farewell, and tell him, if he is wise, to come after me as quickly as he can. I, it seems, am going today; for that is the order of the Athenians.” And Simmias said, “What a message that is, Socrates, for Evenus! I have met him often, and from what I have seen of him, I should say that he will not take your advice in the least if he can help it.”“Why so?” said he. “Is not Evenus a philosopher?” “I think so,” said Simmias.“Then Evenus will take my advice, and so will every man who has any worthy interest in philosophy. Perhaps, however, he will not take his own life, for they say that is not permitted.” And as he spoke he put his feet down on the ground and remained sitting in this way through the rest of the conversation. Then Cebes asked him: “What do you mean by this, Socrates, that it is not permitted to take one’s life, but that the philosopher would desire to follow after the dying?”“How is this, Cebes? Have you and Simmias, who are pupils of Philolaus, not heard about such things?”“Nothing definite, Socrates.”“I myself speak of them only from hearsay; but I have no objection to telling what I have heard. And indeed it is perhaps especially fitting, as I am going to the other world, to tell stories about the life there and consider what we think about it; for what else could one do in the time between now and sunset?”“Why in the world do they say that it is not permitted to kill oneself, Socrates? I heard Philolaus, when he was living in our city, say the same thing you just said, and I have heard it from others, too, that one must not do this; but I never heard anyone say anything definite about it.”
ΦΑΙΔ. ἀλλὰ προθυμεῖσθαι χρή, ἔφη· τάχα γὰρ ἂν καὶ ἀκούσαις. ἴσως μέντοι θαυμαστόν σοι φανεῖται εἰ τοῦτο μόνον τῶν ἄλλων ἁπάντων ἁπλοῦν ἐστιν, καὶ οὐδέποτε τυγχάνει τῷ ἀνθρώπῳ, ὥσπερ καὶ τἆλλα, ἔστιν ὅτε καὶ οἷς βέλτιον ὂν τεθνάναι ἢ ζῆν, οἷς δὲ βέλτιον τεθνάναι, θαυμαστὸν ἴσως σοι φαίνεται εἰ τούτοις τοῖς ἀνθρώποις μὴ ὅσιον αὐτοὺς ἑαυτοὺς εὖ ποιεῖν, ἀλλὰ ἄλλον δεῖ περιμένειν εὐεργέτην. καὶ ὁ Κέβης ἠρέμα ἐπιγελάσας, Ἴττω Ζεύς, ἔφη, τῇ αὑτοῦ φωνῇ εἰπών. καὶ γὰρ ἂν δόξειεν, ἔφη ὁ Σωκράτης, οὕτω γ’ εἶναι ἄλογον· οὐ μέντοι ἀλλ’ ἴσως γ’ ἔχει τινὰ λόγον. ὁ μὲν οὖν ἐν ἀπορρήτοις λεγόμενος περὶ αὐτῶν λόγος, ὡς ἔν τινι φρουρᾷ ἐσμεν οἱ ἄνθρωποι καὶ οὐ δεῖ δὴ ἑαυτὸν ἐκ ταύτης λύειν οὐδ’ ἀποδιδράσκειν, μέγας τέ τίς μοι φαίνεται καὶ οὐ ῥᾴδιος διιδεῖν· οὐ μέντοι ἀλλὰ τόδε γέ μοι δοκεῖ, ὦ Κέβης, εὖ λέγεσθαι, τὸ θεοὺς εἶναι ἡμῶν τοὺς ἐπιμελουμένους καὶ ἡμᾶς τοὺς ἀνθρώπους ἓν τῶν κτημάτων τοῖς θεοῖς εἶναι. ἢ σοὶ οὐ δοκεῖ οὕτως; ἔμοιγε, φησὶν ὁ Κέβης. οὐκοῦν, ἦ δ’ ὅς, καὶ σὺ ἂν τῶν σαυτοῦ κτημάτων εἴ τι αὐτὸ ἑαυτὸ ἀποκτεινύοι, μὴ σημήναντός σου ὅτι βούλει αὐτὸ τεθνάναι, χαλεπαίνοις ἂν αὐτῷ καί, εἴ τινα ἔχοις τιμωρίαν, τιμωροῖο ἄν; πάνυ γ᾽, ἔφη. ἴσως τοίνυν ταύτῃ οὐκ ἄλογον μὴ πρότερον αὑτὸν ἀποκτεινύναι δεῖν, πρὶν ἀνάγκην τινὰ θεὸς ἐπιπέμψῃ, ὥσπερ καὶ τὴν νῦν ἡμῖν παροῦσαν. ἀλλ’ εἰκός, ἔφη ὁ Κέβης, τοῦτό γε φαίνεται. ὃ μέντοι νυνδὴ ἔλεγες, τὸ τοὺς φιλοσόφους ῥᾳδίως ἂν ἐθέλειν ἀποθνῄσκειν, ἔοικεν τοῦτο, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἀτόπῳ, εἴπερ ὃ νυνδὴ ἐλέγομεν εὐλόγως ἔχει, τὸ θεόν τε εἶναι τὸν ἐπιμελούμενον ἡμῶν καὶ ἡμᾶς ἐκείνου κτήματα εἶναι. τὸ γὰρ μὴ ἀγανακτεῖν τοὺς φρονιμωτάτους ἐκ ταύτης τῆς θεραπείας ἀπιόντας, ἐν ᾗ ἐπιστατοῦσιν αὐτῶν οἵπερ ἄριστοί εἰσιν τῶν ὄντων ἐπιστάται, θεοί, οὐκ ἔχει λόγον· οὐ γάρ που αὐτός γε αὑτοῦ οἴεται ἄμεινον ἐπιμελήσεσθαι ἐλεύθερος γενόμενος. ἀλλ’ ἀνόητος μὲν ἄνθρωπος τάχ’ ἂν οἰηθείη ταῦτα, φευκτέον εἶναι ἀπὸ τοῦ δεσπότου, καὶ οὐκ ἂν λογίζοιτο ὅτι οὐ δεῖ ἀπό γε τοῦ ἀγαθοῦ φεύγειν ἀλλ’ ὅτι μάλιστα παραμένειν, διὸ ἀλογίστως ἂν φεύγοι· ὁ δὲ νοῦν ἔχων ἐπιθυμοῖ που ἂν ἀεὶ εἶναι παρὰ τῷ αὑτοῦ βελτίονι. καίτοι οὕτως, ὦ Σώκρατες, τοὐναντίον εἶναι εἰκὸς ἢ ὃ νυνδὴ ἐλέγετο· τοὺς μὲν γὰρ φρονίμους ἀγανακτεῖν ἀποθνῄσκοντας πρέπει, τοὺς δὲ ἄφρονας χαίρειν.
Phaedo. “You must have courage,” said he, “and perhaps you might hear something. But perhaps it will seem strange to you that this alone of all laws is without exception, and it never happens to mankind, as in other matters, that only at some times and for some persons it is better to die than to live; and it will perhaps seem strange to you that these human beings for whom it is better to die cannot without impiety do good to themselves, but must wait for some other benefactor.” And Cebes, smiling gently, said, “God knows it does,” speaking in his own dialect.“It would seem unreasonable, if put in this way,” said Socrates, “but perhaps there is some reason in it. Now the doctrine that is taught in secret about this matter, that we men are in a kind of prison and must not set ourselves free or run away, seems to me to be weighty and not easy to understand. But this at least, Cebes, I do believe is sound, that the gods are our guardians and that we men are one of the chattels of the gods. Do you not believe this?”“Yes,” said Cebes, “I do.”“Well then,” said he, “if one of your chattels should kill itself when you had not indicated that you wished it to die, would you be angry with it and punish it if you could?”“Certainly,” he replied.“Then perhaps from this point of view it is not unreasonable to say that a man must not kill himself until god sends some necessity upon him, such as has now come upon me.”“That,” said Cebes, “seems sensible. But what you said just now, Socrates, that philosophers ought to be ready and willing to die, that seems strange if we were right just now in saying that god is our guardian and we are his possessions. For it is not reasonable that the wisest men should not be troubled when they leave that service in which the gods, who are the best overseers in the world, are watching over them. A wise man certainly does not think that when he is free he can take better care of himself than they do. A foolish man might perhaps think so, that he ought to run away from his master, and he would not consider that he must not run away from a good master, but ought to stay with him as long as possible; and so he might thoughtlessly run away; but a man of sense would wish to be always with one who is better than himself. And yet, Socrates, if we look at it in this way, the contrary of what we just said seems natural; for the wise ought to be troubled at dying and the foolish to rejoice.”
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